


Vegas Rule

by andchaos



Series: Revival [1]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Also weirdly, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Post-Series, Pre-Gilmore Girls Revival, Pre-Reboot, So just muddle in the time in the middle there, questionable morals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: “How long has it been?” said Logan warmly.“Only almost seven years,” Rory laughed.He was a different Logan now. She supposed, though, that she was a different Rory now, too. Things didn’t have to all change at once. Really, just look at her: sitting in Logan’s apartment now, wearing his big t-shirt. She was twenty all over again.He touched his palm to her cheek and she leaned into it, closing her eyes. Well, maybe not twenty completely.“The more things change,” she murmured.





	

 

            Rory had no real reason to be in London, except hope in her chest and confidence in her veins and the infinite maybes of her future, stretching out before her. She stepped off the plane with no plan and one interview exactly a week from today, and she fully planned on getting to the motel room and unpacking and doing nothing but preparing for the next seven days. She planned to prepare right up until she stepped into the interviewer’s office, ready to really sell why they should hire her to write a column for them, and then maybe a few more after that. After that, she had four more days before her flight back to the states, and then she could finally relax. But first she had to work.

            That’s what she planned. And she succeeded—until about day four, when she started to go a little stir-crazy. So Rory did what she always did when she was starting to fray a little at the edges of her brain; she called her mother and ranted. For a long time.

            “Rory, Rory,” said Lorelai, but Rory was not yet done.

            “Don’t use a placating tone on me!” said Rory. “I do not want to be placated! I’m freaking out! My interview is in three days and I’m completely unprepared, I don’t know why I thought I could do this. There’s no way I can learn all I need to know about the company in three more days. I’m going to tank. They’re never going to hire me.”

            “Rory, I know you,” said Lorelai. “You already know most of it. You’re going to ace your interview. And so what if you don’t? You’re a smart girl, kid. You’ll get back on your feet and find another newspaper that wants the great Rory Gilmore as their columnist in no time. Okay? Just breathe.”

            Rory tried just breathing. It had a limited healing effect, but she felt less like she was going to faint now.

            “Good,” said Lorelai. “Now do yourself a favor and take the night off.”

            “The night off?” said Rory, alarmed. “I can’t take the night off! I have too much work to do!”

            “Rory, you’re in London. You’re only there for eleven days. You should see the sights, go out and mingle with the locals. What better way to do that than to get rip-roaring drunk with a group of rich London socialites who want to get you hammered and take you out on the town? You have to see the town. It’s the city of lights!”

            “Your disturbing vision of rich alcoholic socialites aside, I think the city of lights is Paris,” said Rory.

            “Oh. City of romance?”

            “Also Paris,” said Rory, “and Venice…and Rome, I think.”

            “Huh. What’s London?”

            “The city of…weird British accents?”

            “They should put that on the postcards.”

            “I agree,” said Rory. She sighed. “Okay, I’ll go out. For one night! It would be kind of good to get my mind off of things.”

            “See, that’s my girl! Drink with those socialites for me.”

            “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

* * *

 

            Rory tiptoed around a couple of bars for a while, but they all looked packed and intimidating and she wound up wandering around until she found something much more low key. She found a place that was half bar, half nightclub, with dim blue lights that made her feel like she was walking underwater. The music was throbbing without being too loud, but she could still feel the bass in her feet and hear herself talk at the same time. The clientele was smartly dressed but sparse. Rory liked the place immediately; it fit exactly the ritzy roaming journalist aesthetic that she wanted to achieve.

            She went up to the bar to get something, then realized she only knew really basic drinks and none of the fancy mixes that bars like this tended to serve. She ordered a martini and leaned back against the bar on her elbows, scanning the rest of the place. The bartender tapped her shoulder a minute later and Rory turned around to lean one arm against the bar and sip at her martini.

            She looked out to the side at the crowd on the dance floor, her back to the half of the room filled with tables and booths. The people dancing were infinitely more interesting to her. She cocked her head, watching them, wondering if there was any market for her to write about London nightlife from an outsider’s perspective. She quickly shook away the thought. It had definitely been done before.

            She was still sipping at her first drink when she heard her name.

            “That _can’t_ be Rory Gilmore.”

            The voice came from behind her. She whirled around, keeping a tight hold on her martini glass so that it didn’t spill. Her hair whipped around her head in an arc, and it was in her eyes for a moment so she couldn’t see who was speaking to her until the air settled into a shimmer, still alive with the pulsing vibes of the nightclub. Who could possibly know her all the way out here?

            Then she saw, and Rory’s face split into a smile.

            “Logan Huntzberger, as I live and breathe.”

            He laughed, good and hearty, holding his chest with one hand. When he was settled, Rory stepped forward and embraced him soundly, and he squeezed her back. He felt so homey in her arms, she might have been back in college, still trying to find her footing in the world. Time seemed to collapse across the years since she had last seen him, and she felt like maybe it could really be that way. Then they pulled away from each other and the world resettled around her, and she was still twenty-nine, and they were still in London, and things really had changed so much. Still, adrenaline coursed through her, familiar in a long-lost way.

            “It’s so good to see you,” said Logan warmly. “How long has it been?”

            “Only almost seven years,” Rory laughed. “Wow, I can’t believe this. What are you doing here?”

            “Well—” Logan glanced behind him at something, then back at her. “Why don’t you come sit with me? We can catch up on how small the world is. Unless you’re here with someone already?”

            “Nope,” said Rory, shaking her head. She couldn’t help but think that the world really _was_ small. She was so worried about not knowing anybody in London, but it looked like she already had one friend.

            Logan seemed happier, Rory realized as they started to talk. He wasn’t the same heartbroken boy she had left behind at twenty-three. He was older and more mature. He had accomplished more, had seen more. He really did seem to be doing well.

            In exchange for his stories about venture capitals and stock markets and expanding businesses, which she didn’t really understand but which made her swell with pride anyway, Rory told him all about journalism. She told him about the offers she was balancing, the pieces she had published, the places she had seen. Logan smiled and nodded along with what she was saying as though he had any more an idea what she was talking about with writing than she ever knew what he was talking about with business, but it was just good to be speaking to him, and he seemed to feel the same. Talking to Logan brought back a rush of nostalgia like she hadn’t expected, but now that she had it, she was surprised at how warm it made her feel.

            “I’m seeing someone now,” said Logan.

            “Oh?” said Rory. She waited for the prick of jealousy to come, but it didn’t. She was glad he was doing so well, and she told him.

            “Yeah, thanks,” said Logan, ducking his head at the sentiment. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Her name is Odette. She’s this Parisian heiress—well…”

            “Of course she is,” said Rory, rolling her eyes. “I always knew you’d end up with somebody who could match you for glitz and glamor.”

            “Hey, don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

            “I have tried it,” said Rory, grinning at him. He grinned back, and she glowed. Maybe time really did heal all wounds. “So I think I am totally justified in knocking it.”

            “Man, when will you ever give me a break?”

            “You’ll catch plenty of breaks from me when we’re both dead.”

            “You’ve gotten morbid,” he teased.

            When they had exhausted their talk about their jobs and lives and had consumed enough martinis to make Rory start giggling, Logan rose up from his seat. Rory looked up at him, and he blinded her with a smile as he extended his hand.

            “Let’s dance,” he said. His eyes were shining with that all-too-familiar gleam; Rory knew that look well, and it always guaranteed looming trouble—but a lot of fun, too.

            “Oh, I can’t,” she said, shaking her head and grinning.

            “Come on, for old time’s sake,” he said. His voice dropped lower, beseeching, and he added, “Dance with me, Ace.”

            Rory flushed. “Well…”

            “That’s the spirit,” he said, and she laughed despite herself as she took his hand and let him guide her up to her feet.

            They swept out onto the dance floor with ease. Even after all this time, Rory knew all of his moves, and she still knew how to complement them too. They swayed and spun across the floor, and Rory found herself really laughing now. It felt so good to let loose.

            Logan had filled out since she had last seen him, and it took a while for her to learn all the new curves and mounds of his muscles, of his back and his arms. His face was different too, less of the doughy boy she had known. It was stronger now, a man’s face. Rory found herself torn between sadness and elation. So much had changed.

            Logan still knew her so well, though. He always had.

            “What’s wrong?” he said. He paused in their dancing and tried to let her go, but she clasped his hand more tightly in hers. He gazed back at her quizzically. “Do you want to sit down?”

            “No, no,” said Rory quickly. “I just…”

            “Talk to me,” he coaxed.

            Rory looked away from him. She knew her cheeks were rosy now, and it wasn’t just from the drinking or the dancing. She met his gaze again.

            “This is nice,” she said at last. “I’m glad I ran into you, Logan.”

            “Don’t tell me you’re going so soon,” said Logan. He always had a way of affecting himself like everything was the end of the world, and even though Rory knew it was just an act, she also knew that part of this wounded front was real.

            “Not yet,” she said.

            He broke out into a vibrant smile. “Do you want to get out of here?” he offered. “I have a place just up the road. It’s quieter. And there’s coffee.”

            Rory grinned at him. “You had me at coffee,” she said.

 

            The walk back to his place was short. They went up in the elevator, because sometimes Logan just couldn’t resist showing off how he lived in luxury. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his apartment, then poured them both drinks from an extensive collection he had in his kitchen.

            “This is good,” said Rory when she had taken a sip.

            “It’s eighty-four year old brandy,” said Logan. “It had better be better than just ‘good.’”

            He turned on a radio station and as it pumped softly through his apartment, they sat down on his couch to talk more. Rory felt like there was so much to say, it would never all come out in just one night together. Instead of trying to fit it all in, she looked around his apartment. She had to admit that she was impressed. She always knew that Logan liked to live in style, but this was really something else. This wasn’t just extravagance; it was extravagance in London.

            “I can’t believe how far you’ve come,” said Rory. “I remember when you were just some Yale kid using daddy’s money to pull wild stunts with your society friends.”

            “Now I’m using my money to pull wild stunts with my socialite friends,” said Logan. “How far I’ve come.”

            Rory laughed. “Don’t do that,” she said, pushing his shoulder lightly. “You’re doing really well for yourself, Logan. I’m really proud of you.”

            He said nothing for a moment, looking down at his drink instead. He swilled the contents around the glass and did not look at her when he said, “And how about your wide open future?”

            When he raised his eyes to hers, he did not look upset. Rory smiled faintly.

            “It’s wide open,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, I really don’t. But I’m excited for it, you know? I still am. I have this interview in a few days…”

            “You told me,” said Logan. “That’s why you’re in town, right?”

            “Yeah,” said Rory. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know how it’s going to go.”

            “I’m sure you’ll do amazing,” said Logan warmly. “You always manage to land on your feet.”

            Rory smiled, mostly to herself, and said nothing. He did likewise. For a moment there was a lull, where it was just the sounds of the radio playing. The song that was on faded out. A new one started up instead, and Rory perked up suddenly.

            “Hey, I know this song,” she said. She dipped her head from side to side for a moment, and hummed a few bars. “This is American radio.”

            “It is,” said Logan. He was beaming again now, and Rory could tell that something was cooking inside him. Sure enough, he swallowed the last of his drink and put it down on the coffee table beside them, and he got up. He extended his hand, cleared his throat, and announced dramatically, “May I have this dance?”

            “I don’t know,” said Rory, smiling coyly back. She sipped at what remained of her brandy. “You’ve already had one tonight. You’re getting awfully greedy there, Mr Huntzberger.”

            “A gal like you will do that to a guy,” said Logan. “Please? I’ll be on my very best behavior.”

            Rory rolled her eyes. “Just like always, I’m sure,” she said.

            Still, she finished off her drink too and got up with him. He led her behind the couch, between that and the wide window where there was a little more room. They would be able to move a little without crashing into anything. Rory took his hand and he took her waist, and they stepped up close to each other and began to move in slow circles in time with the crooning on the radio.

            “Is this about a boy?” asked Rory. She leaned her head against his shoulder and breathed out. “What boy wears tube socks in a hotel room?”

            “Maybe it’s not about a boy,” said Logan.

            Rory mulled that over. “I like it either way,” she decided.

            Logan laughed. It wasn’t audible, but she could feel it in the rumbling of his chest beneath her cheek.

            “Yeah, me too,” he said.

            They lapsed back into quiet, listening to the song permeate the room as they spun around and around in their little circles. They had taken off their shoes and were sliding across the wood floor, Logan in his socks and Rory in her stockings, and it made them stumble and slip so much they were laughing as they danced. Still they didn’t let go of each other as they moved around, imperfect dancers but perfect partners. Rory’s heart beat and grew the longer it leaned against Logan’s own.

            She looked up at him as the song waned, the last echoes of it beginning to fade out into nothingness. He looked back at her, gaze steady and scorching, going straight to her head, and straight to her heart.

            She whispered, “It really is good to see you.”

            He murmured back, “You too, Ace. I’m really happy we ran into each other.”

            She didn’t know who moved first—if Logan did, swooping down across the short distance, or if it was her who leaned up on her toes to get closer. Maybe they both moved at the same time, and could share the blame as they shared everything else. Whoever’s fault it was, one moment they were dancing along the wood floor of his apartment together and the next his lips were on hers, and they were still spinning in their unending circles and their hearts were beating, beating, beating as one against each other.

            Rory was already breathless when she pulled away from him, dropping back onto her flat feet. A second later, though, they looked back at each other and then it was like lightning struck: their mouths crashed back together, and she was reaching up to wind her arms tightly around his neck and he was pulling at her thighs until she jumped, never breaking their kiss, to wind her legs around his waist. They stumbled. He caught them against the back of the couch, the top of it digging into Rory’s back, but she didn’t care. They tumbled over the back of it, landing flat on the cushions, all tangled up in each other. Rory couldn’t get enough and it seemed Logan couldn’t either, because neither of them stopped long enough to get themselves together. They just dove back in, kissing in earnest now, as French as Logan’s perfect heiress girlfriend.

            The thought stopped Rory cold, and she pulled back. She found her fingers curled into the neck of his shirt and released them slowly, watching them unwind. She scooted back a little, readjusting her skirt. Guilt began to seep, steady and hot, through her veins.

            “What is it?” asked Logan. He was already against her side again, pressing closer, touching her arm and her face and Rory couldn’t think at all.

            She struggled to remember the problem. Then she did, and her eyes fell closed and she touched the tips of her fingers to her bottom lip, where she could still taste Logan’s tongue like it was there and had never left.

            “Odette,” she whispered.

            Logan made a strained sound. Rory opened her eyes to see the pained expression on his face, but his hand was still touching her arm. She knew he was feeling that electricity between them, rippling fiercely beneath her skin, and probably beneath his too. The guilt dialed back to white noise, stifled beneath what his presence did to her blood.

            “Fuck,” said Logan.

            Rory still wasn’t sure what that meant—what he had decided. She hesitated, her hands a centimeter away from his chest. Tentatively, she rested them there, just holding them over his heart. It was beating wildly. Her eyes jumped to his, and she found them fierce and hot and hungry.

            Later, she would blame it on martinis and brandy, on soft songs on the radio and Logan’s hand in her own. But for now there was no denying what was real: Her, greedy and young, watching her reckless want reflected back at her in his eyes.

            “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said.

            “It’s already forgotten,” Rory gasped, and she pulled him with a hand on the back of his neck.

            They managed to undress, although the process was sloppy and difficult and they both seemed to find it difficult to get all of their limbs out of the way while they were still making out with so much determination. At last Rory found herself divested of everything except her stockings, and Logan was completely bare. He was also pulling her towards his bed, and she was stumbling along laughing, helpless but to go along. Still, she pulled him to a stop before they got to the mattress, grinning and playful and a foot away.

            “What happened to your best behavior?” she teased. Her fingers splayed against his, her fingertips tapping against his own and then curling between them, both mischievous and curious. She giggled and pulled him closer to her by the hips.

            He smiled back, feral, at her question. He gave a playful little growl.

            “Shut up and come here, Gilmore,” he said, and she gave a scream of laughter as he tugged her backwards onto the bed.

            Rory fell on top of him when they landed, and they wrestled and kissed and twisted and sighed as they rolled around together on the bed, pinning each other down by the shoulders and each fighting to tug down Rory’s stockings. Logan managed to at last, pausing to kiss at the bones of her hips, and Rory kicked the stockings off somewhere beside the bed and turned around again. With a gasp from her lips, Logan tugged her up into a wild and intense kiss, and the rest of the world fell away around them. Rory’s heart was pounding, but she thought it sounded like a drumbeat; and it was tapping out _Logan, Logan, Logan_ all the way from 2007 to now. Like a light, always ready to guide her back home.

 

            Rory woke up in an apartment she did not know, in a city she did not recognize.

            She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. Outside, it was still dark, though she was sure it could not be far from morning. Trying to regain her bearings, she looked around, her memory slowly coming back to her as the befuddlement of sleep faded from her mind. The confusion didn’t last long. There was only one person with taste like this.

            She was in London. She was at Logan’s.

            She was at Logan’s.

            Rory looked down. No, it hadn’t all been some crazy dream: she was really here, wearing absolutely nothing at 6:32 in the morning, waking up in an ex-boyfriend’s bed. An ex-boyfriend with a very current girlfriend. She buried her face in her hands.

            “Oh, crap.”

            She rolled out of his bed carefully, checking behind her every couple of seconds to see whether or not Logan had stirred with each dip of the mattress she made. He was still just as sturdy as a sleeper as he had ever been, though, and he did not wake up as Rory got to the floor and began rifling around for her clothes. She eventually managed to find the underwear, stockings, and shoes she had been wearing, and she gave up looking for the rest of it after a brief but futile search. She just pulled on her panties and one of Logan’s t-shirts that she found folded carelessly over a desk chair, threw what she was sure belonged to her over the back of the couch, and went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. She gargled some of Logan’s spare mouthwash while it brewed.

            Rory was sipping her third cup of coffee and watching The View when she heard a snuffling sound coming from behind her. She turned around, propping her elbow up on the back of the couch, and arched an eyebrow over at the boy on the bed. He was sitting up, his bedhead fierce and his sleep-muddled daze stretching up into his eyes, looking completely confused as to what was going on. Rory grabbed the remote and lowered the volume on the TV.

            “Morning,” she said, sipping at her coffee cup again.

            Logan made a weird face, the one he always wore when he was tired and confused and struggling to get up the nerve to come to terms with what had happened the night before. Rory was very, very familiar with the feeling right now.

            “Good morning,” he said. He scrubbed a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m guessing there isn’t breakfast? What time is it?”

            “Half past six, and no,” said Rory cheerfully, “but I can order something. I’m guessing you have room service, oh prince of England? Or somebody who you pay to pick up extravagant breakfasts and bring them straight to your door?”

            “Ha, ha,” he said dully. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly and glanced at the window beside his bed, then covered his face with his hands and gave a great groan. “Come back to bed, Ace. It’s not even sunrise.”

            “It is sunrise,” said Rory, turning towards the window. She nodded at the horizon, where the sun was just barely beginning to peak over the top of the city skyline. “See?”

            “You know that’s not what I mean,” said Logan. He sat up fully, blinking a lot like he was trying to focus. Rory struggled not to smile. Logan stretched his arms out towards her, cupping his hands and gesturing her towards him. He smiled, all tempting and sly, the way only Logan ever could. The butterflies in her stomach were all trademark Logan, too. They belonged to him just as surely as a piece of her heart always would, too. “Come on, come lay with me. We can stay here all day. We don’t even have to see the sights.”

            “What if I want to see the sights?”

            “Then we can see the sights,” said Logan, dipping his head. His legs formed two open curves beneath the sheets, and Rory found herself looking for just a second. When she refocused on his face, he was grinning. He said, “Or we can stay in. We can stay here until noon and then fuck all day until you’re tired again, and then do it all again tomorrow.”

            Rory shook her head. “Your ego never ceases to amaze.”

            “Never ceases to impress, either,” he said. “Come on. I promise that I measure up.”

            “That was never the problem,” said Rory. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, go back to bed. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

            He tilted his head at her, but he was already laying back down, getting comfortable, ready to drift back off. “You promise?”

            “I promise,” she said.

            She turned back around to finish watching her show; when the episode ended, she looked back and saw that he was long since asleep again. She settled back further into his couch to watch TV for another couple of hours, changing the channel here and there but only getting up to refill her cup of coffee again and again and again.

            The next time that Logan woke up, she only knew when she heard him messing around in the bathroom. He stumbled out a few minutes later, running his hand through his hair, which was as unkempt as it always was when he didn’t have to go out immediately. He was dressed now, but just a little—just in his boxer briefs, which were both tight and revealing. He went into the kitchen nook but soon reappeared in her line of view, holding up a mug.

            “Really? This is all you left me?” he said.

            Rory shrugged. “I left you a whole cup,” she said. “What more do you want from me?”

            “Yeah, yeah.” He sat down with her and she made room on the couch. “What are we watching?”

            “Buffy,” said Rory.

            “Which episode?”

            “The musical,” said Rory. “My god, who do you take me for? I only watch the good ones, unless I’m binging.”

            “My sincerest apologies.”

            They kept their hands to themselves until they were both finished with their coffee. Neither one said anything about it, but when they weren’t holding mugs anymore they seemed to naturally curve together on the couch. She had always fit well up against his chest; his arm could have been made to sling around her shoulders. When he seemed to get bored of Buffy an episode later, though (and Rory couldn’t blame him—it was the one where Xander was crushing on his teacher, who turned out to be a bug), Logan turned and tucked his face against her neck, idly pressing kisses and nibbles against the sensitive skin there. They fit together there, too. Rory had to work to remember to put her hands against his chest.

            “What?” he said, raising his head to look at her.

            Still, he loomed close. Rory’s halting gesture was offset by the way she twined her fingers through his own, and she took a prolonged moment of silence to get her thoughts properly in order again.

            “Logan, I want to,” she began. He groaned and started to pull away from her, and she looked after him helplessly as he got up and went to stand by the window. He stared out at the cityscape, his back to her. Rory’s heart plummeted, and she knew that it shouldn’t but it did anyway. “Wait, stop! I’m not sorry about what happened, and I’m not saying that I don’t…” She shook her head. “I’m just…I know how bad an idea this is. Especially after, you know. What happened with me and Dean.”

            “We’re not you and Dean,” Logan pointed out, turning around again.

            Rory privately thought—and thank god for that. She couldn’t help looking at the cut of his waist, at his body, and she blamed him for putting his hands on his hips and drawing her eye there.

            “No,” she agreed, looking him back in the face, “but when on earth has this situation ever ended up going well for two people? You know, we agree to hook up, and it’s all well and good, and then one of us gets our hopes up and things go bad and then we can never see each other again. And I’m really, really happy we saw each other again, Logan.”

            He lounged back against the wall, crossing his arms now. Rory had no idea what he was thinking. Guessing what was in his head had been the one part of him she had never quite been able to crack.

            “It doesn’t have to be like that,” said Logan at last. “Look, Rory. I know that maybe, you know, things shouldn’t have happened the way that they did. But they _did_ , okay, so we just have to live with that and move on from here. So—so why does it have to be this kind of huge, big deal. You know?”

            Rory shook her head. “You don’t get it,” she sighed.

            “I do, I really do,” said Logan. Coming from him, it sort of sounded like a promise. “Listen, Rory—”

            He shrugged off the wall and came closer to her, until he was standing behind the couch. His hands were on either side of her head and she twisted around to look up at him, and he was looming down over her, smiling that reckless Logan smile, making her heart leap all around in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, but he was still there when she opened them again. Not an apparition. Not a dream.

            “It can be easy,” said Logan. His voice was honey-sweet and tempting, absolutely dripping with syrup. Rory, well—Rory wanted to devour him whole. More than that though, more than anything…she wanted to believe him. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Look, you’re in town for what? A few more days?”

            Rory nodded, pressing her lips together. She wasn’t sure she trusted herself enough to speak.

            “Let’s start there,” said Logan, spreading his hands. “Look, I’m all alone up here most of the time. No, wait, I’m not trying to give you a sob story or justify what I did—I’m just saying, you can stay here. Forget the motel, you can stay here for free while you’re up here. It’s just for a little while.”

            “What if I get the job?” she pressed.

            “Then that’s great!” said Logan, spreading his arms out wide before reaching down to clutch at the back of the couch again. “Rory, come on. You can stay here with me whenever you’re passing through London. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

            She could feel it scratching at her ribs, that want, that need to be close to Logan now. She could have it, too. She knew how close she was to giving in—but she couldn’t yet, not without one last little fight. Just so she could tell herself she tried.

            “There are no,” she tried, then stopped. She held her breath, let it out slowly, and tried again. “This can’t be anything except what it is. Wait, let me finish. I’m living in America. You have a girlfriend. I just…This can’t go outside this apartment, okay? While I’m here in London, we can—can do this _thing_ we’re doing, you know? But it has to stop there. We won’t talk about anyone else while we’re here, nothing about who we’re seeing or who we’re sleeping with. And when I’m gone, that’s it.”

            Logan held up his hands. “What happens in Vegas,” he said.

            She gave him a look. “Don’t be glib.”

            Logan spread his hands. “What happens in London, then,” he said, laughing. “Rory, come on. Sorry. That sounds like a really great idea.”

            “Does it?” she said skeptically.

            “Well, no,” he said, tipping his head thoughtfully, “but birds of a feather.”

            “That is one very morally grey bird.”

            “It takes after you.”

            For a moment they just stood there, smiling at each other. Rory couldn’t help but notice how beautiful Logan was; he had always been a very handsome boy, but now it was different. He had changed, she realized. It wasn’t just the surface things, like how his face had lined and matured or how he wore a gold watch now instead of silver. It was how _he_ had changed, how his heart had grown and remolded. He was softer now, and more measured. Rory knew he could be just as bad as he always had, of course he could. But he had become someone with responsibilities, and someone who could shoulder them accordingly. He was a different Logan now.

            She supposed, though, that she was a different Rory now, too. Things didn’t have to all change at once. Really, just look at her: sitting in Logan’s apartment now, wearing his big t-shirt. She was twenty all over again.

            He touched his palm to her cheek and she leaned into it, closing her eyes. Well, maybe not twenty completely.

            “The more things change,” she murmured.

            When she opened her eyes, Logan was looking down at her softly. He pushed back the hair that framed her face and slowly, deliberately, leaned down toward her. She had plenty of warning before his lips touched hers, but it was like breathing fresh air anyway, and Rory sighed.

            “Come back to bed,” Logan whispered, his lips bare inches from hers. He stood up and she watched him move away, but he only went to sit on the edge of his bed. He spread his arms out like he was offering the world. He said, “There are no strings attached here, Rory.”

            Again, she was struck with how lovely he really was. It wasn’t just the light from outside anymore. Even sitting in partial shadow on his bed, he shone with brightness from the inside out. She found, like a shock to her heart, that she wanted to be enveloped in that warm yellow light.

            Logan tilted his head at her and laid down his arms.

            “Rory,” he said, his voice lilting and teasing. A smile touched on the edges of his mouth.

            She paused for just a second, ducking her head. Then, letting out a peel of laughter, she scrambled over the back of the couch and launched herself across the room, tackling him backwards onto his bed. Logan was laughing too, and he caught her soundly around the middle before they toppled over. He rolled them smoothly and safely onto the bed then paused, hovering over her. He brushed some hair away from her cheek. Rory thought how perfect it was to be in bed with him right now, the world falling away behind them. Nothing else mattered for now.

            The rest of it, she thought, could stand to wait seven more days.

**Author's Note:**

> i refuse to apologize for loving logan huntzberger but i _do_ apologize for writing this because seriously, a gilmore girls fic? what is this, 2003?*
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> PS: they were slowdancing to ["is there somewhere" by halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=686SmDtBOu8) in his apartment that night, because holy shit do those lyrics fit!
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> [find me on tumblr](http://freyias.tumblr.com/post/153781507870)
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> *disclaimer, i didn't write gilmore girls fic in 2003 due to the fact that i was 7.


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